


With Best Wishes on Your Birthday

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: First Time, Humor, M/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-14
Updated: 2005-10-14
Packaged: 2018-11-10 13:27:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11127867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Happy Birthday tooo youuuuu.





	With Best Wishes on Your Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

With Best Wishes on Your Birthday

## With Best Wishes on Your Birthday

  
by Blue Champagne  


Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Author's Notes: The site listed hasn't been updated yet--lots of stuff still missing; I'm trying to get someone to help me figure out how to post to it.

Story Notes: This isn't multiple. Really. Quite. Sort of. Implied. Projected. Sort of hinted at. Sort of broadly hinted at.

* * *

With Best Wishes on Your Birthday  
  
***  
  
Turnbull's birthday party had been unexpectedly wild and crazy, but Ray supposed that was because it was held at the station; considering how Turnbull had reacted to the eggnog at the Christmas party, there was probably also an element of that--the birthday boy setting the tone, and it'd been an exuberant one. Pretty soon, the day-shift's guns were locked in their desks and the on-shift was looking annoyed that they couldn't join in quite as fully--read drink anything alcoholic--as they'd have liked.  
  
Ray'd found out part of the why of Turnbull's extreme reaction when he saw the big Mountie vanish into the men's room and--like it was nothing--the Ice Queen espy this from across the room, put down her punch cup and stride over, following him right on in. Ray really didn't want to walk in on *that*, so he'd hunted Fraser up where the latter was demonstrating that yes, you really could kick that cabbage, it only took a little practice, self-discipline, and the ability to leap tall buildings in a single bound.  
  
Tugging him away from the wrecked cabbage suspended from the ceiling--and the almost equally wrecked partyers totally committed to proving that if a jumped-up Canadian in two-inch boot heels could do this, then they by God could do it, too--Ray related what he'd seen.  
  
Fraser's face collapsed a little. "Oh, dear. I was hoping...you see, Ray, as far as I know, this gathering that the good Lieutenant and I arranged is the first birthday party Turnbull has had in his adult life."  
  
Ray stared. He never made a big deal about his own birthday, himself--he was getting too old to look forward to it much; he always got a card from his mother--his father signed it, but he knew it was because his mother shoved it under the old man's nose and handed him the pen, threatening to withhold dinner until the onerous duty was done--and a call from his brother either on or around the day. While he was married, there'd been birthday dinners and the occasional party arranged by Stella, and she still sent a card with flowers, or something small, giftwise. All pretty much duty-bound type stuff--even the occasional bar trips paid for by co-workers, ones which were basically just an excuse for everyone to go out and get drunk. But Turnbull'd had nothing? At all? "The only one?"  
  
"He has always been reticent about discussing his birthday, feeling it was a kind of self-aggrandizement, which, as I'm sure you're aware, is something he has a great aversion toward; so no one, at any of his postings, has been aware of the date, with the exception of people who both had access to his records and some reason to be more than professionally interested. Inspector Thatcher is the first such person, other than me, for him, because she usually sends greetings and small gifts to her staff on their birthdays, whether she knows them personally or not--she feels it's both an important and an easy morale maintanance booster for the CO of the base to perform, whatever sort of base it is--or gives the greeting and/or small gift personally if they're the staff closest to her. She was able to get all this information from him after his third glass of punch. She was flustered on hearing it--she has a sentimental side, you know, especially when it comes to Turnbull and me--and after a bit of stammering, managed to tell him that she certainly hoped he would enjoy this one and was sure that it would be only one of many more to come, and then she came and found me, and reported the news that this was not something Turnbull would be...used to, and that he might...well, have a bit of difficulty."  
  
"And he's havin' it, and that's why she's in the men's room with him."  
  
"Oh, yes--they're in the men's room. I'd better go and remove them quietly to the supply closet. Not that the Inspector will care about the locale in the slightest, but Turnbull will probably be rather uncomfortable about the lack of privacy, both since he's likely...indisposed, and because he'd feel he ought to shield the Inspector from..."  
  
"From a bunch of drunk dicks hanging out of half-zipped flies in front of the urinal, right. You go ahead. Though it's a little disappointing."  
  
Fraser nodded. "I had hoped he would be so caught up in the festive mood that he wouldn't...you know. Become..."  
  
"Maudlin."  
  
"I'd say, rather, overcome. Maudlin is a word usually used to denote emotions of this type which are...manipulated into, and then out of, of the person experiencing them--whether by alcohol, tearjerker movies, or some other less-than-genuine source. Turnbull's feelings may be more on display because of the alcohol, but they're quite real, I assure you."  
  
"Yeah, you're right, sorry. But I meant disappointing 'cause I was hopin' to get in the closet with you myself and make out a little. We've been on short rations way too long."  
  
Fraser smiled warmly and Ray's heart did a happy dance o' tachycardia . It was amazing how such stormcloud-blue eyes could shine like the sun when Fraser felt that sun shining inside him. Ray bathed, eyes slitting in pleasure. Fraser said "I've missed you, too. But it's Turnbull's day today. I think we'll survive."  
  
"Yeah, we will. Go get 'em out of that smelly pissbucket; I'll cover out here, say there's a traditional Mountie birthday toast going on in private or something. These drunk bananas wouldn't know the difference even if they were sober."  
  
"Thank you, Ray. Please consider yourself kissed."  
  
"I'll do that, Constable, and thanks very kindly. And backatcha." Ray grinned.  
  
Ray proceeded to run interference, and at some point, he noticed a red-clad back disappearing in the direction of the supply closet. He couldn't tell whose it was, the look had been too quick, but apparently they were at least out of the men's room. He was having a beer, his second of the evening--Fraser always took a special joy in not catering to Ray's hangovers, and Ray supposed that he could understand that from somebody like Fraser, for whom drinking the night before duty, which would put one in a bad position during duty whether you were completely un-drunk and just hung over or not, was just about as bad as *being* drunk on duty. You didn't do anything under your control that would render you at less than your best possible performance (viruses and other illness or injury being beyond control, of course) when actually on duty. So he was watching it pretty carefully. Turnbull, he supposed, had a dispensation for being the birthday boy, and especially for this being his first adult birthday party. Actually, he hadn't drunk much. He probably wouldn't be hung over. Turnbull didn't need any help, chemical or otherwise, to get enthusiastic; but with a bit of inhibition-lowering...well, it had only taken a cup or two of punch for him to go just a bit nuts. Now perhaps the alcohol was making itself felt in other ways, too.   
  
But when--he wasn't sure how long later; it couldn't have been more than twenty minutes or so--he saw Fraser in a conversation group clustered around Frannie's terminal--or, rather, around Frannie, most of whom was on display if you got your elbows into it and got a spot up front--along with Thatcher, he wondered why Turnbull hadn't re-emerged and squirmed his way over to them. "Frase," he said in Fraser's ear.  
  
"Ray," Fraser said, turning his head to acknowledge him.  
  
"Where's cuter'n-a-box-of-kittens-and-twice-the-hassle?"  
  
Fraser smirked and said "If you mean Turnbull, he's still in the closet. He asked for a few minutes to collect himself. I left him with my handkerchief to supplement his own, and some encouragement; and responded to his effusive thanks, which I promised to pass on to the Lieutenant. I didn't want him to have to deal later with having hugged Lieutenant Welsh in public."  
  
"That was nice of you. Thatcher think he was okay to leave alone?"  
  
"I think she was undecided, but given that he requested the time alone, she decided to go with what he wanted. Do you think I should check on him? He hasn't emerged, I take it."  
  
"No, I haven't seen him. Why don't you let me check on him? He won't have to straighten up and fly right for me or anything, at least he won't feel like he has to, whether he managed it for you guys or not."  
  
"That's probably a good idea. Go ahead--you might bring him a bottle of spring water."  
  
"Yeah, I'll do that." Ray went and got one out of the refrigerator in the break room--they were Fraser's; he kept them in there, along with the carton of milk that kept getting shoved behind everybody's pop and high-energy drinks, forcing him to search for it like a needle in a haystack whenever he wanted some of it. The spring water, on the other hand, just kept getting stolen, presumably by various women, since none of the men on the floor would be caught drinking it.   
  
But there was still most of a six-pack--which Fraser had already ripped up the plastic binding of and thrown into the proper recycling bin--and Ray procured a bottle and headed for the closet.  
  
There was sniffling inside, barely audible. He tapped gently at the door. "Hey, Turnbull, it's just me, Ray. I brought you some water."  
  
"Come in, Ray."  
  
Ray did so; the light was off, so he turned it on, and there was Turnbull, perched on an overturned bucket, Face resting on his knees. The closet looked especially small with him crammed in there, though he was holding himself small enough that Ray didn't have any trouble entering, too. Guy must be one heck of limber. His long legs were probably convenient right now, though, as he was resting his cheek on one knee with a handkerchief pressed to his face. He looked up when Ray came in.  
  
Ray felt the smile with which he favored frightened children at crime scenes and busts appearing on his face and he crouched down, uncapping the water. "There you go. Wet a corner of that handkerchief and scrub up your face some; you'll feel better."  
  
"Thank you," Turnbull whispered, and did so, scrubbing his face 'til his faintly freckled cheeks were pink. "Is that better?"  
  
"You look great. Ready to wow 'em. You know you haven't opened your presents yet."  
  
Turnbull made a little whimper, then swallowed hard and schooled himself to calm as Ray said encouragingly "That's the ticket, there you go. You know, I wish Fraser'd told me about this before today, the lamebrain, I would have got you something. Feel bad that I didn't."  
  
"Ray, that's really not necessary. Your being here is quite gift enough." That was the first time Ray had heard a line like that and actually believed it.   
  
"Anything I can do? I mean, I can get you a happy late birthday something. What does a guy get for the mountie who doesn't want anything?" Ray grinned, and Turnbull smiled back, then lowered his eyes.  
  
"Well..."  
  
"Yeah? There's something? C'mon, what is it? Lemme in on the present-giving."  
  
"I...don't want you to take this the wrong way..."  
  
"Wrong way?" Ray's brows went up. Fraser had already told Ray how his and Turnbull's gaydars had both blared like tornado sirens the first glimpse they'd had of each other some time back; "take this the wrong way" could mean a lot of things. "Okay. I'll...wait 'til your finished, and reserve the right to say no, how's that?"  
  
"That's perfect." Turnbull looked back up, with a small smile. "I'd like...I want to...well, it's really very silly..."  
  
"Any sillier than you and me and those toy rayguns at the Christmas party last year?"  
  
Turnbull shook his head. "Different. I want you to...I want to...sleep. With you. Not like--not like--you and Constable Fraser, I know you--um, I just mean...sleep."  
  
"You...wanna sleepover kinda thing?" Ray smiled a little, almost sadly. "Guess you never had one as a kid?"  
  
"It needn't be any trouble. No...big celebratory activities. I could just join you in bed and sleep there."  
  
Ray blinked. "Oh. In *bed* with me." Ray had been envisioning sleeping bags and pillow fights, as he and his brother had had for the occasional birthday sleepover, but he realized that the automatic memories were silly for this situation--grown men in sleeping bags on the floor? His back would never forgive him, though Turnbull probably wouldn't complain. Then again, Turnbull pretty much never complained. Hinted, sometimes, or tossed out the occasional invitation to fisticuffs, as he might put it--but not complained.   
  
"If that's--I don't mean--" Turnbull's bluish-grey eyes, paler than Fraser's--more like Ray's, he guessed--were looking wide with alarm.  
  
"No, I get you. You already said. Um." Ray blinked. "Er..."  
  
"It's quite all right, Ray, you reserved the right to say no. I'm afraid the punch is making me a bit too talkative. I hope you aren't offended. We'll...pretend I never asked."  
  
"Hey, wait." Ray reached over and planted his hands on Turnbull's knees, as the other man was making motions of rising and running away. "I didn't say no. I was just...you'd, um, think of that as a present?"  
  
"Yes." Turnbull put his face in the handkerchief and made some small wet noises, mostly, Ray thought, to avoid looking at Ray.   
  
"Well...sure. If that's what you'd like, that's what you get. We'll stop off at your place, pick up your stuff, you can come home with me and I'll drop you at work in the morning."  
  
"I wondered...could we make it tomorrow night? That's Friday, and I'm afraid...I *am* rather large...it might be difficult for you to...I wouldn't want you to lose sleep on a night when you'll be needing your edge in the morning."  
  
"Oh. Um, okay. Same plan, then--just bring your stuff to work tomorrow and I'll pick you up. We can have some dinner, Fraser maybe can join us, that be okay?"  
  
"That would be wonderful, if it's all right with Fraser--well. I was going to say, he might have plans, but about three-quarters of the time, when he has weekend plans, they're with you, so I imagine you'd know."  
  
"He hasn't mentioned doing anything with anyone tomorrow night. If he is, I guess he's out, but otherwise is it all right to include him up to bedtime?"  
  
"Of course. I--he--I--" Back into the handkerchief went Turnbull's face.   
  
Ray smiled a little, in sympathy. "You got a little thing for him, don't you, especially since he's been acting so nice to you. Setting up this party, and stuff."  
  
"Yes," Turnbull admitted quietly, smiling a little. I think he used to have doubts about my sanity. Now he just wonders how I made it through Depot, probably."  
  
"No, he doesn't. He told me the other day how much people seemed to like you there. You had an awful lot of good comments from your instructors and superiors in the files, about how you were conscientious to a fault and would probably go far if you could keep from, how'd he put it...'overfocusing'."  
  
Turnbull peeked out of the handkerchief. "He must've thought that sounded better than tunnel vision. What did he think about those comments?"  
  
"Thought they were probably true, except that your 'overfocusing' made it possible for you to figure out obscure filing systems and other weird-ass stuff that even he didn't see the connections in until you pointed them out--that you'd helped him track down information he needed for his work and mine both, being able to do that. He was telling me that you'd been the one to find the file printout he brought in for a case we were on. And I don't think you have anything like tunnel vision. I think you *live* outside the box. You're a contradiction in terms, but he likes you anyway."  
  
Turnbull smiled. "I'm glad he finds my...tendency to...minutiae and such to be in some degree useful. So does Inspector Thatcher, but I'm her assistant; I'm supposed to handle her minutiae."  
  
"You do it real good. Now, throw back a few slugs of spring water and blow your nose one more time, make sure your face is clean, and come finish up your party. People will be wondering where you've gone by now."  
  
"Of course. It's so kind of everyone. It wouldn't do to be rude."   
  
"Don't worry about *that*. These people would party for Groundhog Day, and they wouldn't know rude if it bit 'em in the ass, but yeah, they'll wonder where you went."  
  
***  
  
"I still think it's an...interesting request."  
  
"I think he was just feeling lonely, Frase. Or maybe...it was that he knew that after the party, he was gonna crash, emotionally speaking, but good, and he wanted to have something to look forward to." They turned the corner and headed down the consulate's street.  
  
"That could easily be," Fraser considered. "I know how much difference it made to me, having someone...something...well...knowing that I wouldn't be, eventually, abandoned for the night, left with nothing but my own thoughts. That never used to bother me, and usually it doesn't, especially since...Diefenbaker began sleeping near me on a regular basis. But...there have been nights that I would have liked to spend in company, even if that company were asleep, or we both were."  
  
"It's probably like that, yeah. I know what that's like. After the divorce...your buddies, yeah, they're around, but eventually it's time to take off, gotta get to bed sometime tonight, get up for work in the morning...and there you are, alone with yourself, and sometimes you can get to really hating that. I just wonder where he would have gotten used to it. Having someone to sleep with, that is. Maybe he's always hated it or something."  
  
Fraser shook his head. "I don't know. He does know about us, doesn't he? You and me, that is. I assumed he did, but..."  
  
"Yeah, he does, near as I can tell. Just doesn't think it's his business to comment on a superior's love life, I'm pretty sure. But I'm just a friend, someone he knows, doesn't work with me directly. If I were a woman, I doubt he'd suggest it--God, he'd probably run in fear from the idea. But I'm just...me."  
  
"It's a very nice gesture on your part, Ray, especially since you may end up getting tucked under his arm like a teddy bear."  
  
Ray chuckled. "I been through worse. I bet he at least smells as good as you do. Guys sleeping together, you generally end up with some serious stink. When I wake up with you, I smell better than when I went to bed, unless we had sex."  
  
"Well, naturally."  
  
They pulled into the parking lot and Fraser got out, beckoning Diefenbaker with a deaf-wolf hand gesture. Dief would be watching the tube at the consulate, fixed up with snacks and the walk he'd taken with Fraser while Ray was finishing up at work, until Fraser returned that evening. This usually didn't bother the Inspector; having Fraser around to defend the place at night was convenient, and the same went for the wolf; she knew Diefenbaker would permit the entrance of friendlies while hitting the beeper to alert Fraser, and providing vicious sound effects, if anything untoward should take place. She'd had to have that demonstrated to her--that Dief knew how to do that--but after that, saw no big reason to take issue, since Dief had never, repeat, never had an accident in the consulate. This was because Thatcher had told Diefenbaker right into his face so he couldn't miss it that he would NEVER be allowed back inside if such were to occur. Fraser had later told him that if worse came to worst, for whatever reason, Dief was to jump in the tub in the downstairs bathroom they usually used, commit his indiscretion, and alert Fraser at the first opportunity, including using the beeper if necessary, since it would probably only happen if he was stuck in there while Fraser was out in the evening.   
  
When Fraser came back out, Turnbull was in his wake instead of Diefenbaker; they were both in mufti, Turnbull looking oddly boyish and somewhat unfinished in a white T shirt and jeans, sneakers on his feet; Fraser had on a blue plaid flannel with his jeans and hiking boots.   
  
"What's for dinner, birthday boy? Our treat," Ray said as he threw the goat into reverse.  
  
"Oh, it's not my birthday any more, Ray--I can buy my own dinner. And since you're being so kind as to provide transportation and--"   
  
Fraser said "Turnbull, pick a place to eat and let him pay. Don't worry; I'm not paying, I paid for the party decorations. And I threw the fish back in the lake. This is Ray's contribution."  
  
"Oh. Um, all right, Constable. Actually...I'd rather like to have pizza at Ray's, if that would be all right with you, Ray."  
  
"Oh, c'mon, I'm supposed to be taking you out for birthday food."  
  
"It's what I want," Turnbull said very softly, apparently talking to the duffel he held half in his lap.  
  
There was a brief pause, and then Ray said "Oh. Um, all right. If...pizza it is. Long as I get pineapple."  
  
"Of course, Ray."  
  
"We wouldn't dream of depriving you of your sacred pineapple," Fraser murmured from the back.   
  
Ray gave him an over-the-shoulder smirk. "You spoilin' for somethin' back there, Benton buddy? Hm?"  
  
"Of course not," Fraser said, smiling with teeth, and reaching up to mess Ray's hair up.  
  
"Hey! Oh, that's it, you're a dead man. Once I park this car you better start running."  
  
"I will. Up to your apartment to order the pizza."  
  
"Actually, here--" Ray fished out his cell and handed it to Turnbull, who had been watching the interchange, smiling. "It's the first one on the speed dial."  
  
"Um...what should I..."  
  
Ray detailed a beer-and-pizza night menu he felt was suitable, and Turnbull repeated it without a bobble. Hell, he'd even used Ray's tone of voice. It was scary how *on* the guy could be, sometimes.  
  
"I've never seen you outta the red getup," Ray said, taking the phone back. "Did you know you look even bigger and about five years younger?"  
  
"So I've been told," Turnbull said in a small voice.   
  
"Inspector Thatcher once complimented his appearance when he was dressed as he is," Fraser said helpfully. Oh, he was just being no end of helpful back there, and Ray could totally see the ain't-I-a-stinker look that had to be on his face. "She said that although the tunic looked, on him, quite as though it had been designed for him, his shoulders were somewhat minimized by the cut of the inset sleeves and the epaulets; she suspected the way the Sam Browne draws the eye diagonally down the torso had something to do with it as well. She suggested a men's clothing shop a friend of hers frequented that sold off the rack, but did alterations for big and tall, and could doubtless provide him with some affordable and very flattering outfits he would find useful for casual and formal evening wear. Since he often accompanies her to dinners and such semi-formal events--working lunches and dinners, in which assistants are expected to be present for the purpose of taking notes, handling reports, lists, and other information each participant is expected to bring on the evening's topic--she even offered him RCMP credit to pay at least part of their cost; the full cost, even, if it turned out to be no more than seven or eight hundred dollars."  
  
"Seven or--shit. No wonder she offered you the credit card. But that doesn't sound like 'Christ, you look hot,' which is what I meant," Ray said, and Turnbull turned even pinker.  
  
Fraser smiled. "She said *that* to him at his party yestereve, when he removed his tunic to prevent possible spills on it of punch or cake, after he'd had a few cups of the former."  
  
"Oh, so she'd had a few, too," Ray cackled in gleeful understanding.  
  
"She *was* fairly professional about it," Fraser allowed. "Even if was obviously inspired by the spirit of the evening, especially as it was Turnbull's birthday party, and the Inspector is someone who appreciates flattering tailoring, on anyone--you'll notice that she dresses in tailored civilian outfits herself, though she could spare herself the trouble by wearing the dress uniform, if she chose. She does on some occasions--personally, I think the reason she doesn't do it more often is that she's left-handed and thinks her Sam Browne shoulder strap running the direction opposite to everyone else's makes her...well, stand out a bit."  
  
"You guys don't wear the daily?"  
  
"Not usually, when we're serving in diplomatic positions, such as staffing a consulate in another country. Though I used to wear the daily uniform before the staffing changeover at times, since I was often out of the consulate with...you. Otherwise I only had to wear it if I had guard duty any portion of that day. The choice of uniform is generally the officer in question's to make. Though I suppose, as far as the Inspector's...um, interest..." Fraser cleared his throat, "...if the person in question..."  
  
"You mean, if the body under the nice tailored clothes is hotter than a tiiiiiin roof," Ray wailed the B-52's line, still grinning, "that don't hurt anything, either, in her opinion. By the way, I saw her eyeing Frannie. There something I don't know? Or should I say, didn't know 'til yesterday?"  
  
"Under the circumstances, it was difficult *not* to--as you put it--'eye Frannie'," Fraser admitted. "As the party's hosts, Lieutenant Welsh and I were rather hard put to maintain order after a bit, and her reappearance after she was off duty and had changed into the mini halter dress she felt was more appropriate for a party...well, he used several expressions I was unaware were part of his cultural background, and muttered something about phoning her mother and inviting a few members of the Vecchio family to the station before he couldn't keep her under control any more, since you weren't being much help in that area. And quite a few people, not just the Inspector--as noted, you among them, Ray--seemed to be admiring Francesca's taste in casual wear."  
  
"Francesca *is* lovely," Turnbull said softly.   
  
Ray nodded at Turnbull and said "That's what I mean. Frannie wasn't wearing enough for your boss to be looking at the way her clothes fit, unless she was looking at the way her clothes, hey, *fit*." Ray grinned. "She was looking, not very subtly, at Frannie."  
  
"Well, Ray, Francesca is, as Turnbull noted, very beautiful."  
  
"So Thatcher likes beautiful women too, on top of liking a good set of shoulders on a guy?" Ray said, watching Turnbull getting slowly pinker.   
  
"I'll add here that I think when Francesca said, at your apartment, that people followed her because she had an allure, she was merely stating the truth," Fraser said. "But yes, since the Inspector was not at all subtle about it and was not inebriated enough for that to have been the reason she was so obvious in her admiration, I don't think it's beyond the bounds of propriety any longer to tell you, at least, that the Inspector does appreciate the charms of her own sex as well as those of ours. She wasn't trying to hide it last night, as far as I could tell."  
  
"Yeah, and she's pretty charming herself, when she's being nice, and she's hot as hell, too, and this conversation is making me horny. Maybe we should talk about something else."  
  
Fraser laughed. "It's true you're driving. But a bachelor's night--if you and I can be considered bachelors, Ray--"  
  
"What the hell, we can tonight."  
  
"--featuring beer, pizza and undoubtedly sports on TV, if anyone's playing tonight--"  
  
"Leafs tonight, at home. You might watch it; I'll just be tolerating it."  
  
"Oh, the Leafs in Toronto? I hadn't kept up. May we watch, Ray?" Turnbull asked.  
  
"Anything you want. You're still the birthday boy while the celebrating is still happening," Ray said indulgently, and grinned, big and warm, at Turnbull. "And you're cute when you're excited, so sure."  
  
"I thought you wanted to change to a topic that wouldn't make you any more...you know," Fraser said, whispering the last two words a woo-woo fashion designed to make Ray glare at him in the rearview mirror while Fraser himself giggled. "But as I was saying before you rudely interrupted me--"  
  
Ray made a raspberry, causing Fraser to laugh through the rest of the sentence, "--I thought that the topic of sex and attraction was supposed to be acceptable for an occasion like this one. After you're not driving, that is." "Fraser, I have been a truly horrible influence on you. Anyway, we're nearly home. Where pizza and Canadian beer will soon be arriving. I never knew the Ice Queen liked girls, and my gaydar is damn good for a bi--sorry, PC Mounties, I meant 'women', not girls."  
  
"She has a very chivalrous streak when it comes to women," Turnbull said thoughtfully. "She wouldn't let it get in the way of what she perceived as her duty--arresting a woman, for example, if called on to do so--but still, one might wonder at that, her *being* a woman, that she would feel protective toward them; but from what I've observed, it seems to be so. Except in...certain cases, where she feels that her duty to the RCMP is paramount."  
  
"I can see her in chainmail, with a sword or a lance, on top of a charger--I *know* she can do the horse part, anyway--rescuing fair maidens. Kinda...kinda like the idea, actually."  
  
"I do as well, Ray, but we're about to run a red light."  
  
"Shit." Ray took a stomp on the break. "Christ, I'm such a guy sometimes. Hate having to do that--just had some work done on the transmission. Sometimes I wonder if a standard is the smartest idea for in-town driving. Maybe I should use one of those little pop cans from the motor pool for in-town, one with an automatic. This much stomping and clutching and shifting and general carrying on, it's an insult to a fine car."  
  
"It is quite a lovely car," Turnbull said. "I've always admired it, ever since I saw it and you showed me all the work and innovations you and your father had done, and your father kept up over the years."  
  
"Turnbull, you let me have my pineapple and say good things about my baby here, and I'm gonna have to propose."  
  
"I have dibs," Fraser said blandly. Ray's eyes went wide for a moment, but he only said "On which of us? And anyway, can't I marry you both? Hey, I'm a guy with loving to go around, you know."  
  
"Braggart. We could see that at the party when you were dancing with Francesca."  
  
Turnbull giggled.  
  
"She *let* me keep my hand there," Ray pointed out. "I don't know if it was the punch or what, but..."  
  
"I'd really love to see her naked," Turnbull said, sounding perfectly serious and speculative, and Ray nearly dropped a brick right there in the car, but Turnbull continued "She'd make a beautiful model. I might go so far as to do an oil--which is quite a commitment in terms of time and effort, preliminary sketching, and reproduction of the various conditions for each sitting--if she'd consent to be the work's subject. I could do her as one of Artemis's huntresses, or as a sylph--she'd be a *perfect* little sylph."  
  
"He thinks of Frannie naked and he wants to *paint* her," Ray sighed. "On a *canvas*, I mean. Frase, we must teach this man."  
  
"Not that I wouldn't also like to see either of you naked," Turnbull added, as though to make sure they didn't feel snubbed. Fraser's head went down as he covered his facial expression again. Turnbull went on "I'm sure I'd see many elements I could use to good effect in an artistic composition. Corporal Fraser would look well even as a minimalist charcoal-stroke in the Japanese style--there *is* no medium that could but flatter him. And you, Ray--you'd be lovely in soft pencil. The medium would bring out your poetic side. Just...lovely."  
  
Turnbull's voice was hushed, with an almost aching quality to it; Ray wasn't totally indifferent to that, but he was too gobsmacked to really get the fact where it mattered. "You'd do that? Let me, uh, model for one of your pictures?"   
  
"Oh, yes. I'd need a photograph of your face, though. I couldn't bear not to include your beauti--your smile, and your facial muscles would tire far too quickly for me to finish."  
  
"Uh, not to, uh, mention that I'd feel dumb sitting there naked, grinning for no reason," Ray said, making Fraser duck down to hide himself in the back seat while he cracked up at the thought, but Ray was honestly semi-dumbstruck. Turnbull--okay, it was Turnbull, but still--thought Ray was, physically, enough to rate being an artists' model. Or even only one artist's model. Well, Frase and Frannie, too, but they really were gorgeous, both of them. "I'm, uh," Ray said, his eloquence continuing unabated. "I don't know what to say."  
  
"He can probably tell that by now. Say thank you, and tell him you'll model for him," Fraser suggested.  
  
"Thanks, and I'll--oh, no. You nearly got me, Frase, but there will be no naked pictures of me in existence any time, any where, for *any* reason. Though Turnbull, you really got me with that, man. I'm way past flattered. If I ever would allow naked pictures of me to exist, it'd be for you to do that, do the soft-pencil thing."  
  
"No one need see it but us, Ray," Turnbull said imploringly, apparently sensing a near-landed model. "I'd make only one, and I'd give it to you. It would make me *very* happy."  
  
Ray risked a glance at him and wished he hadn't. Turnbull's eyes weren't huge and dark like Fraser's, but his puppy look gave Fraser's a definite neck-and-neck run. "I *am* the birthday boy," Turnbull added, hopefully, with a wistful smile.  
  
"I think you're for it, Ray." Fraser was still giggling, softly. "Just give in gracefully."  
  
"Tell you what. I'll do it if Fraser will," Ray said triumphantly.  
  
"What!?" Fraser said. "Not on your--I'm sorry, Turnbull, but I couldn't allow that."  
  
"Uh-huh," Ray nodded. "That's what I thought. 'C'mon, Ray, do it, it'll be swell! Me? Uh, the dog ate my homework, I got a sick friend to visit, my tricky knee's acting up'. You're a wuss, Fraser."  
  
"I beg your pardon," Fraser said. "I am not a wuss. I'm simply not...artist's material."  
  
"What!?" Ray blurted; Turnbull had turned to gape disbelievingly at Fraser, and Ray was strongly tempted to do the same thing, driving the car or no.   
  
Turnbull was handling it, though. "Sir, I must respectfully disagree. You...*are* art--" he cleared his throat and continued quickly "--I admit making a likeness of you as a piece of art would be redundant, but you are the most agreeable subject for a human-figure study I've ever seen."  
  
There was a brief silence, and Ray grinned. "I think he's got you, buddy," he quoted Fraser back. "Might as well give in gracefully."  
  
"If I do, you have to as well, remember."  
  
"Um." Ray had, indeed, forgotten that for a moment. Probably visualizing just how red and mortified Fraser would be, sitting around posed naked for however many sessions. He could barely keep from breaking into a laughing fit that could have killed them all.  
  
"It'd be a wonderful opportunity! I've never had the chance to work with live human models. Not willing ones, anyway, suspect sketches don't count. As I said, I needn't make more than the one original, and you could each consider it a gift--I probably wouldn't want to put my first efforts at live human model projects into my portfolio, anyway."  
  
"I didn't know you had a portfolio, Turnbull," Fraser said, sounding surprised.  
  
"Yes, I do--you're both quite welcome to see it first, if that would help you make the decision," Turnbull said excitedly. "Artist modeling is difficult work. I'm sure you wouldn't want to undertake such a project for just any dilettante who asked. I'll make a representative sample of my efforts available to you both and then you can give me your answers, would that be all right?"  
  
"Uh, yeah. Fine," Ray said. What the hell was he going to say, after all?  
  
But he was still a little freaked out. And flattered.  
  
***  
  
Ray enjoyed the pizza and beer while his Canadian companions enjoyed both dinner and the hockey game, though they (the Canadians) had to admit the game wasn't the most riveting one either of them had ever seen. That was probably a good thing, since Turnbull had a habit that was very cute, but somewhat alarming due to his size; namely, bouncing up and down in his seat when he got excited. Fraser would reach over and put a hand on his shoulder without looking at him and Turnbull would stop bouncing, though he didn't even seem to notice the hand. Ray supposed this must be a fairly common procedure. Debouncing Turnbull. Sounded like a basketball movie. It would explain all the times he'd seen Thatcher reach up and put a hand on Turnbull's shoulder for a moment when speaking to him or someone else; she must be anticipating potential bounces.  
  
"I can't say that was the most stimulating game I've ever seen, but it definitely wasn't the worst," Fraser said, as he was looking around for his jacket. Ray always insisted on taking it for him, and then Fraser wouldn't be able to find it. He'd accused Ray of doing it on purpose, but it never came to much in terms of changing anything.  
  
"Oh, it was worth the time, I think," Turnbull said. "You're not going already, sir?"  
  
"Yes, actually, I thought I'd get up tomorrow and accomplish a few things in the morning. Ray doesn't care to face the day on Saturdays until noon at least, so I can generally expect to have that time to myself unless the Inspector and I have to work. Which we don't tomorrow, thank goodness. Ah." He'd found his jacket on Ray's bed. "Plus, I don't want Diefenbaker having to resort to the final option."  
  
"Final option?"  
  
"Bathtub."  
  
"Oh. Dear. Yes, I can see your point. Well, thank you for coming, sir. It was very kind of you, especially after arranging the party yesterday--" Turnbull's voice suddenly cut off, and Ray looked over from getting a piece of pineapple fiber out of his teeth to see Turnbull getting pink and looking misty.  
  
Woops, better save his demeanor, here. "Yeah, real kind of him to get a free pizza dinner and watch the Leafs."  
  
"Don't be catty, Ray," Fraser said, coming back into the front room to lean down and kiss Ray. They smiled at each other without even token animosity then, and Fraser, as he leaned back up, said softly "Call me tomorrow."  
  
"Yeah, I will. Or we will. Have fun doing whatever you're going to be doing. Polishing the brass or whatever."  
  
"Detailing my uniforms was one of the things I'd planned on, as well as a run with Diefenbaker by the lake."  
  
"So after Noon sometime?"  
  
"Yes, I should be back by then. Happy birthday again, Turnbull."  
  
"Thank you, sir." Turnbull had his I'm-overcome expression and made a little meeping sound when Fraser leaned down and hugged him with one arm, patting his shoulder on the way back up before taking his leave.  
  
"You and Constable Fraser are very lucky," Turnbull hazarded, a moment after the door closed behind Fraser. "You seem quite well suited."  
  
"We are so far." Ray thought a minute, sipping beer. "We're...still hassling with questions like this little thing of being residents of different countries." He returned Turnbull's smile of resigned understanding. "But we've decided that the best way to deal with that is wait and see if it's even going to need dealing with."  
  
"Then you haven't...committed to anything in particular?"  
  
"Kinda, we have. If either of us were to get interested in somebody else, we'd talk to the other one about it. But neither of us are what you could call animals in that department."  
  
Turnbull smirked.  
  
Ray continued "I dunno--if we break up, it'll be while we can still stand each other."  
  
Turnbull gave him an inquisitive look, and Ray shrugged. He said "I just know, I can tell. He agrees with me. We both have to wonder if we're not just playing limpet a little bit with each other; we've both been through some pretty rotten shit, a lot of it not long ago, and we got close pretty damn fast for guys who were forced into each other's pockets by circumstance; we know that. I guess what I'm trying to say..." Ray pondered a minute.   
  
"We know we'll always love each other, even if we don't always stay together like we are. If we don't, it'll probably happen in one of those moments we're always having where we look at each other and just know what we're thinking. We'll look, and one of us will say something like 'this ain't gonna pan out, is it,' and the other one will say 'doesn't look that way', and we'll probably take a break from each other for a little while 'cause breaking up is hard to do; you get used to each other, even when you're driving each other nuts. But I don't think he and I'd get to that stage, the nuts stage. It wouldn't be long before we could get back to the friends thing. I just...can't get too worried about it. It's like, he's always going to be in my life, one way or another. I wouldn't give him up totally. Though it's true he can run faster than me." He grinned as Turnbull smiled, and Ray added "Which is a bitch, because he weighs maybe twenty pounds more and my legs are longer than his. He's got some *powerful* quads and glutes, though. Anyone with an ass that solid is going to be able to move their bulk. I got no butt at all."  
  
"None at all?"  
  
"Not like you guys. Well, there's something that you kind of have to call a butt because it's this two-sided thing located at the end of my back and the beginning of my legs, but that's sort of granting it the title on a technicality, if you see what I mean. Actually, my being such a scrawn is one reason I was pretty freaked to hear you'd want anything to do with creating *any* kind of reproduction of me naked. One of me is enough. Or not enough, depending on how you look at it. Fraser, now..."  
  
"Ray, I..." Turnbull looked a bit flustered, turned the TV off with the remote, and tried again. "It's something you radiate. You're an attractive man, but that's one reason I said I'd need the photograph of your face to work with, and preferably a few of all of you. And the medium--soft pencil--that would create the sort of....glow you have. Well, it would create a glow; the glow would *represent* the one you have more than actually looking like it. It's rather like plays not being reality, but representing it. If you did a play that depicted genuine reality..."  
  
"Two hours of people sitting at desks and answering phones, or knitting and watching the tube, and otherwise not really conveying the concept of anything but 'you'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll kiss the ticket price good-bye'."  
  
Turnbull grinned. "Exactly. And other media that tell stories--movies, novels, suchlike. They must represent reality accurately, and to do it, they must portray it *in*accurately. Within bounds, of course, unless we're talking about escapist material. By the way, I have nothing against the latter. When you get right down to it, everything we do for entertainment is escapism of some sort."  
  
"Yeah. Stella used to get embarrassed 'cause she reads science fiction. I thought that was nuts. There's a lot of really great literature to be found in genre stuff and everyone who isn't getting their paycheck via pretending there isn't knows it. Being a lawyer is really intense. She needed to get out of her head, and this world, for a while. And she read Clark, Asimov, hell, even Burroughs."  
  
"Oh, I loved his Martian books, John Carter of Mars? I was overcome by his friendship with the green man Tars Tarkas. It wasn't easy to find science fiction in which a human and a member of an alien race--one which was alien-*looking* and acting, that is--in any science fiction from that era."  
  
"Yeah, that's them. A lot of people get them mixed up with Bradbury's 'Martian Chronicles'."  
  
"Bradbury was a truly great writer of genuinely artistic literature, not escapist reading as it's normally defined--a prose poet, much like Theodore Sturgeon was. Their stories were so warm and personable."  
  
"Right up your alley, huh?" Ray grinned and started cleaning up the pizza and beer stuff; Turnbull started helping immediately, of course.   
  
"Yes--I also liked Burroughs portrayals of women. He was one of the first male science-fiction writers to write women as valiant, brave, and very erudite and intelligent, as well as beautiful."  
  
"Yeah. I remember Tavia, the one who wore weapons and fought like a man, and the writing kind of took it for granted that the only thing you needed to do for women to be able to do that was give 'em the lessons and hey, they were good. He made a big deal about the women of Helium being so brave and strong they'd grab a weapon and go nuts on the battlefield even *without* training, singing the national anthem of wherever they were from, which is kinda silly, but which you have to admit was waaaay ahead of its time in science fiction."  
  
"Oh, indeed. I think perhaps my favorite of his female characters in that series, though, was Thuvia."  
  
"Oh, the horse-whisperer. Yeah. Those huge critters with the eight legs, I forget what they were called, that they used as riding critters, and wild ones, and I think even the big nasty ones the green men rode. She'd just kinda purr at 'em and up they'd come to her."  
  
"I very nearly had a fit when one of the books ended in a cliffhanger--three women, a Bad Guy woman, I'm afraid I don't recall her name--Thuvia, and Dejah Thoris in the tower that only opened once a year--and Phaidor, that was the bad one's name, rushing at Dejah Thoris with a dagger and Thuvia jumping to get in between them and stop her before Dejah Thoris could be hurt. Or was it the other way around? No, I'm fairly sure Thuvia wasn't the target. In any case, the story ended there, with John Carter having to wait a year until the tower opened again to find out who, if anyone, had been stabbed--his wife, his friend--and real friendships between men and women were another thing Burroughs was ahead of his time with--or if those two had overcome and disarmed Phaidor."  
  
"I think they were all alive when the next book started, weren't they?"  
  
"Yes, but I don't remember what the circumstances were when the tower reopened. I doubt they were still in there. Burroughs had an awful tendency to classic cliffhangers."  
  
"Llana of Gathol," Ray said, nudging Turnbull with his elbow and chuckling.  
  
Turnbull chuckled back. "Oh, yes, she was quite hilarious. Very witty and irreverent, and also very inventive. And very knowledgable about the mechanics of flyer operation, too."  
  
"I liked her. She was always copping a 'tude and getting away with it."  
  
"Well, Tara was her mother."  
  
"Yeah, you didn't fuck with Tara of Helium. Here, I'll dump that. Fraser makes me use the right garbage-sorting bins..."  
  
"As well he should. It's our only biosphere, Ray, we must take care of it."  
  
Ray smirked, then said "Our only biosphere...ever wish you could just kinda stare at a star--or a planet in his case--like John Carter, and *yearn* hard enough, and off you'd go, boom, be on that planet?"  
  
Turnbull made a small, secretive smile. "What time is it?"  
  
Ray laughed. "Aw, ain't you having a good time?"  
  
"A wonderful time, Ray. I...suppose I wish I could yearn my way to a planet where I could take this sort of good time for granted."  
  
Ray was quiet a moment, then managed "Now that we all know when your birthday is and that you're a lot of fun at parties, I think you're probably going to do okay in that area on this planet."  
  
Turnbull chuckled softly. "Ray, I know it's early, but..."  
  
"But you had four beers, which I bet is more than you usually even look at."  
  
"I usually don't drink beer at all, actually, though I do appreciate nicely aromatic and flavorful wines."  
  
"I kinda suspected. You a little sloshed?"  
  
Turnbull giggled, Ray grinned at him, and, patting his shoulder, said "Go siddown, I don't want a big guy like you falling over on the hardwood. My landlady would have to wonder." Ray went to see to his turtle. Turnbull ignored the injunction to sit and scurried to follow; he was fond of almost all animals and liked to amuse himself by entertaining the little creature, who usually actually did poke his head out of his shell and seemed to demonstrate real interest when Turnbull, who had extremely dexterous and flexible hands and fingers, would make a little four-legged animal out of his hand, using the middle finger for the neck and head, and made it walk around, wave, scratch its head, and a number of other tricks that Ray would die before admitting he genuinely found very cute. Once you were sure Turnbull wasn't a lunatic, he was actually pretty adorable, though, as Fraser had admitted, after he had decided his new colleague was only a little odd, as long as you didn't spook him; apparently it just took him a bit to get settled in to a new place.   
  
He hung over Ray's shoulder, made the hand animal and had it sit down and make patty-cake gestures with its front feet, as the turtle watched in deep concentration, probably trying to figure out how this odd-looking turtle made its front legs do that.   
  
Ray wondered that too, for that matter. "Can you do that with both hands?"  
  
"Yes. Silly, isn't it? My sisters and I used to do it. We had a number of different animals--'hand animals', we called them, appropriate if unimaginative--which we would invent and play out stories with. This is just a basic hand animal. We also had crab animals--they were predators--climbing animals, shy animals, and quite a few others species I'm sure you're not that interested in."  
  
"Can you show 'em to me?"  
  
"Yes, but not while I'm tipsy, I don't think. My fingers keep tripping on each other."  
  
"You don't act tipsy. Or sound it, either."   
  
"I seldom do, unless something gets me all excited. Like a birthday party, just for me..." he sniffed and wiped his face with his unoccupied hand real quick.  
  
"Well," Ray said, as he finished with the nightly cursory cleanup and lowered the light, "we'll get you to bed then, before something can get you all wound up." He picked up the hand Turnbull was using to make the animal--big hands, but not like Fraser's, who had hands like a longshoreman; Turnbull's were large, but longer-fingered and slimmer through the palm. He squeezed the hand in both his own and smiled at Turnbull.  
  
Turnbull smiled back, looking a little misty, still. "Thank you, Ray."  
  
"Early bedtime's fine with me. You wanna get a flashlight and read comic books under the covers?"  
  
Turnbull laughed, his head dropping and lips pressing together as if he didn't want to be too indecorous. "If I had a comic book, I would. It sounds like fun."  
  
"Never did that, huh?"  
  
Turnbull shook his head.  
  
"I really shoulda thought to lay some of that stuff up, if you've never had a sleepover birthday party."  
  
"Wouldn't you feel silly, at our age?"  
  
"Better make that my age; I don't think you're as close to the embarrassing age as I am. And yeah, I probably would feel silly, which would be the point." He smiled.   
  
Turnbull suddenly leaned down and kissed his mouth soft and quick, leaned back up and blinked back at Ray as Ray blinked at him, and then his eyes widened. "I'm sorry! Terribly sorry, I don't know what I--"  
  
"Relax. That wasn't a come-on, I know when a pass comes my way. That was just what my mom used to call a little sugar." He let go of Turnbull's hand to pat his cheek. "S'okay. Come on, we'll put your drunk, kissing-bandit person to bed before you get wild and crazy and hug me or something."  
  
Turnbull flushed a little, and Ray grinned. "Was that coming next?"  
  
"Well...it did occur..."  
  
"C'mon, you can do it in there. More fun lying down anyway." By the hand he was still holding, he led Turnbull into the bedroom. "You can have the bathroom first," he said, "you shower in the mornings or evenings?"  
  
"Mornings, usually."  
  
"Me too. You can have the bathroom first tomorrow, too; I get the feeling you can get in there and actually accomplish something without injuring yourself right after you shut the alarm off, whereas I need a few to make sure I'm awake enough I don't perforate an eardrum with the backbrush in the shower or something."  
  
While Turnbull brushed his teeth and such, Ray threw his clothes around with his usual abandon and climbed in bed to wait his turn.   
  
Turnbull came back in his boxers and t-shirt, blinking once in pause, apparently at the fact that Ray was in nothing but his boxer briefs. He didn't seem particularly put off, though, so Ray just got up and passed him, saying "Be right back, don't turn the light off yet or I'll kill myself on something."  
  
"Oh, of course."  
  
When Ray came back, Turnbull was next to the bedtable. "Is it all right if I sleep on the outside?"  
  
"Um, yeah. I usually sleep there, but when Frase sleeps here, he sleeps on the outside too." Ray climbed over Turnbull and wormed his way under the covers. "Neither of you are used to sleeping with somebody; he's worried he'll kill me in his sleep, trying to get up and running over me or something, but he doesn't do stuff like that. I've never seen him more than a little sleepy in the mornings; he usually wakes up totally awake, even if he's not on bodyguard duty or whatever. He's not as bad as he is then, but he still wakes up faster than anybody I've ever seen."  
  
"I won't be a problem for you that way," Turnbull admitted. "I'm rather hazy in the mornings. Especially tomorrow morning." He yawned. "I may be feeling my beer."  
  
"You've got most of the covers."  
  
"I'm terribly sorry."  
  
"I need to get more covers. Frase just makes it, but you're so big and long it pulls the covers up more, and farther. Hold on, I'll get..." he got up and rolled across Turnbull, making the latter go "mmph" and then giggle; he smiled as he got to his feet and went to the closet, where he pulled down two large, super-soft blankets, one green and one pink, that he'd picked up at a sale. They were some kind of synthetic, but they were so soft and felt so warm he hadn't minded, considering how cheap they were. They could come apart in a half a dozen washings and still be worth the money, no more often than he'd have to wash them.  
  
He doubled one lengthwise and tossed it across the foot of the bed, crawling up over Turnbull's feet to get to the wall and tuck it in between wall and mattress; then he took the other and spread it, also lengthwise, from one side of the bed to the other. "There," he said, crawling back up and under the reinforced covers. "You can turn the light off. Now even if you pull the covers out, nasty drafts won't hit me. I'm too old for that stuff."  
  
"You aren't old, Ray, I wish you'd stop that. You don't look much over thirty."  
  
"Well," Ray said, as the bed bounced around with Turnbull's getting comfy after he turned the lamp off, "I *are* much over thirty. On *my* next birthday, my young friend, I will be celebrating the big four-oh."  
  
"Really?" Turnbull sounded honestly dumbfounded. "You..."  
  
"Don't act that old, I know. That was one of Stella's complaints. She felt that there were behaviors that went with certain ages, and if they didn't automatically start happening, then, well, you should fake them. If they didn't start happening after *that*, you should keep faking them. Me, I consider that to be a pretty lame breed of hypocrisy."  
  
"I...believe I get your point."  
  
"You know what? I don't even know how old you are, birthday and all. Your cake only had one big candle to blow out."  
  
"I'm thirty-three."  
  
"Baby."  
  
"Stop it, Ray, once everyone's over thirty age is no barrier. I knew constable Fraser was almost forty, and he doesn't look--even remotely--his age, but I didn't realize...I just assumed, with you, since I don't have much access to you or information about you. I thought you were about my age."  
  
"You keep feeding my ego like this and I'll have to get physical on you."  
  
"That would be very nice," Turnbull said softly.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Ray rolled over and put an arm and a leg over Turnbull, found his face in the dimness, and kissed it. "Thanks."  
  
"You're welcome. In every sense. Don't feel you have to move."  
  
"You makin' a pass or just feeling mushy?"  
  
"I'm feeling embarrassingly mushy, Ray, and it may be worse because of the beer, but I was already feeling quite mushy earlier."  
  
"I noticed." Ray, smiling, lowered his head and rested it on Turnbull's shoulder. The arm he'd rolled across came up and held him loosely, wrapped around him with a hand on his hip.  
  
"I think your hind end is lovely, Ray."   
  
"Since you're feeling mushy, I'll just say thanks," Ray chuckled. "Your ass is nice, too. Aren't we polite? Must be making you feel at home."  
  
"I feel strangely at home right here, actually. Maybe it's the beer."  
  
"I hope not." He sighed, and tucked his knee across Turnbull's near leg and slid his own top arm down to tuck a hand under his waist. Turnbull raised his other hand and began to stroke Ray lightly, carefully, moving his fingers in Ray's hair along with the direction Ray had styled it when his hand wandered to Ray's face.  
  
They were quiet a few minutes, relaxing.   
  
"This is nice," Ray said finally.   
  
"It's wonderful," Turnbull sighed.  
  
"I missed cuddling until Fraser and I started," Ray said. "So I can see why you'd think so. Guys aren't supposed to miss that. But I didn't have any women around. If you want cuddling and you're a guy, you need a woman in your life, somewhere pretty close. A good friend'll do if you guys are close enough you can do that without anyone deciding sex has to come into it somewhere, and to be fair it's usually the guy who does that. I think women would cuddle more with guys if the guys didn't always get woodies. They're all over each other, when they're close, without there being sex. Even lesbian couples are all over each other without there necessarily being sex. Women just get away with everything."  
  
"That is partly our fault, Ray. It's supposed to be unmasculine to want to touch unless there's a female involved, and our fear of being identified as less than fully and knuckle-draggingly masculine is the main problem there."  
  
Ray chuckled. "You're right, except...well, sometimes when you're cuddling..."  
  
"Yes, it *is* sexually exciting to men--as a matter of *course*, I mean--more often than with women. With women, it depends on whether they want it to be, whether they're in the mood to begin with, or begin to be for reasons outside simply touching closely with someone else. With us...we don't get to decide, our, ahm, hormones do it for us, and then the women are left with having to have sex with us or be accused of being teases."  
  
"Yeah, that isn't really fair to 'em, but it's not like we can help it..."  
  
"No, but we can be sensitive, as in aware, of the human need for touch, without insisting on sex as payment every time."  
  
"I guess you're right, put it that way. Stella even told me, why she pulled away from me sometimes was because she knew what was coming next when I'd start snuggling on her and she wasn't in the mood for sex. I was pretty shocked. I didn't know it was that--okay, I hadn't known *I* was that bad about it. But I realized, when she pointed it out."  
  
"I know men, though, who like cuddling. I do. I've known others who do. Like it even without the prospect of sex, I mean."  
  
"Yeah, but we're gay, or bi, in my case."  
  
"That doesn't seem to matter as much as most people think. Yes, gay men are casually affectionate far past the degree that straight men are, because gay men literally have nothing to prove. We're gay. There's no *reason* for us not to touch; we *know* when we mean sex or not, we're...open about it. Well. Much *more* open."  
  
"This feels pretty...pretty great."  
  
"Yes, it does, Ray." Turnbull's caressing hand slid down Ray's back, and he turned his head to kiss Ray's forehead. "It's lovely." He sighed.  
  
"Mm. Not everything rates a 'lovely' from you. I can see why Francesca did, but..."  
  
"Ray...this is what I wanted. This is the gift from you I wanted, not...a late replacement for the slumber parties I never had. I wanted this with you." He squeezed Ray with the arm he held him with on the word "this". "I couldn't be more pleased with my birthday present. Thank you."  
  
"Aw, geez, guy. I'm gonna get all teary." Ray, smiling, was nevertheless telling the truth; he rubbed his face against Turnbull's upper chest, as though wiping at tears. His voice was a little trembly, though. He didn't mind if Turnbull knew it wasn't a joke; he supposed he was feeling his beer a little, too, and anyway, Turnbull wouldn't be annoyed by an emotional demonstration, especially not from Ray. Turnbull loved emotional demonstrating, whether he or someone else was doing it. He was a different kind of guy--not a flamer in the slightest, but still with his emotions (including the ones men were supposed to keep buried, or at least hidden, if they had the supposed wimpiness to actually have such emotions) very close to the surface, though their roots stretched deep into his being. "You're sweet."  
  
"So are you." Turnbull's voice was sleepy and distant, soft and deep. "Sweet, letting me...so kind of you..."  
  
"Hey, it's just a cuddle." Ray wriggled a bit with pleasure, though.   
  
"How much of that do you think I get with anyone but my nonhuman friends?" Turnbull asked pointedly.  
  
Ray sighed and nodded. "I guess you got a point. No guy without a sex partner of whatever kind gets much cuddling. No grown guy, anyway." He turned his head up and kissed Turnbull's cheek, down toward the jawbone where he could reach. "You turn your head so I can kiss you on the lips, or would that mean we had to have sex?" He was smiling, and Turnbull chuckled.  
  
"No, I wouldn't demand sex from you because of a kiss." He turned his head, and they kissed, softly, slowly, without tongue, but with a lot of expressiveness in their lips.  
  
"Mm?" Ray said, a rising note that plainly asked for another kiss, or maybe something else, too--maybe "Is this good for you?" or "Do you maybe wanna do something else?"   
  
Turnbull gave him the kiss that was the obvious part of the sound, and whispered "I'm very happy with this, Ray. I...would love to...to do more. More than kiss. You feel so good." The last words sounded almost agonized, but quietly, not with sturm und drang. "I..." he stopped, but it was so clear what he'd been going to say he might as well have gone on.   
  
"Yeah?" Ray smiled. "You do? Would you say it?"  
  
"I love you," Turnbull whispered.  
  
"I love you, too," Ray assured him gently, and kissed him again, lifting his tucked-under hand to rest against Turnbull's cheek. "I do. I...really care about you."  
  
"Oh, Ray." Turnbull's voice squinched off, and he sucked in a short breath and held it.   
  
"Happy birthday. Happy every day. From your good friend Ray." Ray kissed him, long and firm, and finally Turnbull opened his lips and his tongue met Ray's.   
  
Ray's hand moved again, from Turnbull's face and down his body, slid under the waistband of his shorts. He caressed the soft masses he found there, rolling Turnbull's balls gently in his hand, responding to the arcing cry this produced with a heartfelt moan of his own. He let his hand slide up, stroking Turnbull's cock to full hardness, and began to pump him firmly.   
  
"Ah!" Turnbull threw his head back helplessly, breaking the kiss, as his hips surged upward and began moving in time with the strokes. "Ray!" His voice was surprised, even shocked, but not unpleasantly, not in distress. "Oh, God!"  
  
"That's right," Ray whispered, his own cock hardening against Turnbull's hip. "Yeah, you just feel it, feel that, hold on to me, I'm right here and I'm loving this, hold on tight and just...let go..."  
  
Turnbull keened again, and Ray kept stroking him, harder, faster, until Turnbull thrust up hard, one hip pinned by Ray's weight, and he thrust up into that weight, again, again, once more, and then he was crying out while he came, two pulses, three, more, still thrusting upward, clinging to Ray tightly.  
  
When he finally shuddered the last of it out, he began, slowly, still panting, to relax into Ray's embrace; Ray, using Turnbull's already-done-for T shirt to wipe his hand on in passing, slid his arm under the bigger man's body again. He kissed Turnbull's cheek, discovered it was damp, and pressed his face to Turnbull's, unable to speak for a moment. Then he said "If I'd gotten a card to go with that, I'd have had Frase sign it, too. Happy birthday from us both. With love."  
  
Turnbull gathered him close with desperate clinginess that Ray moaned softly at feeling, and buried his face in Ray's chest. "Thank you," he whispered. "Oh, God. I love you, too. And him." His hand moved, and Ray, unprepared, gasped as Turnbull's dexterous fingers closed around his erection. Turnbull didn't waste time, and Ray didn't make any kind of protest; he at once began pumping back into Turnbull's hand, puffing soft breaths in rhythm, and moaned a warning; Turnbull used his firm grip on Ray's body to pull Ray over on top of him, and if Ray hadn't been about to come anyway, that would have done it for him. He shuddered through each wave, making a continuous soft whine, his face against Turnbull's, with the occasional lick or soft bite as warmth pulsed out of him.   
  
"Oh," he finally managed, sinking down against Turnbull, uncaring, for the moment, about the wet.   
  
"Yes," Turnbull agreed, also using his T shirt to perfunctorily wipe his hand before wrapping that arm around Ray. "And don't think that part wasn't a gift, too. Letting me touch you. It's been so long, and you felt...so good. So beautiful. You *are* beautiful, but when you come, your face..." he broke off, at a loss for words. "Most people, they don't...they aren't so beautiful, beautiful..." He rocked gently with Ray in his arms, a slow, easy comfort rocking.   
  
Ray didn't know what to say. Fraser might very well think he was beautiful when he came--the look on *his* face, more than once, seemed to say it, though Ray had tried not to read anything into it--but no one had ever said it to him. "I...thank you. Thank you..."  
  
"Let me clean us up..."  
  
They both moved, making quick-as-possible work of their underclothes, using the dry portions to wipe up with and then pitching everything over the side, and burrowing back under the covers.   
  
"I'm glad you got the extra blankets," Turnbull said, as they snuggled and wrapped tightly together. "Now we won't have to get up and get them."  
  
"No, now we can just...mm...sleep off our beer, and a couple of totally eyeball-rolling handjobs," Ray murmured in Turnbull's ear, making his voice buzz and tickle it, and Turnbull giggled and squirmed. "Listen, can you stay tomorrow? I want to call Fraser, when he's home, and have him come over, and tell him...I'd like you to be here."  
  
Turnbull was still a moment, but calm; he seemed just to be thinking. Then he said "I know you'd tell him anyway, but do you think he might feel a bit threatened with me here?"  
  
"Threatened? By you? Nah--we aren't like that, anyway, neither of us needs to feel threatened about anything. It's just...I think he'd like to maybe make his part of the mutual birthday gift a little more personal."  
  
Turnbull was still again, and finally asked, very quietly, "Do you think...?"  
  
"I don't know exactly. I think he'd at least like to be able to hug you again, and if you *aren't* here, he might think you're ashamed or afraid. We want him to know you aren't, because if you aren't, and he knows it, he'll know he hasn't got anything to worry about."  
  
"He *is* very straightforward that way. I can certainly stay if you think it's advisable, Ray. I just want to be sure it will be the easiest thing for both of you. I know you wouldn't have...initiated sex if you didn't know it would be all right with him. But I still want to be sure we're being as careful of his feelings as possible."  
  
"That'd mean you bein' here. I'm sure."  
  
"Fine, then. I must say I'm a bit nervous..."  
  
"He won't be mad, really. I know he won't, or I wouldn't have."  
  
"Actually I was thinking he might feel a bit more awkward about posing for me..."  
  
Ray cracked up. "You're worried your shot at getting a live human model might be endangered?"  
  
"Well, yes, rather."  
  
"I don't think it'll hurt your chances. It might even make 'em better. The easier he is around you out of his clothes..."  
  
There was a pause, and Turnbull said very softly "Do you think..." and was unable to finish the thought out loud again.  
  
"That'd be between you guys; isn't up to me. But I can see it. He's awfully fond of you, you know."  
  
"Now, I think he is, yes. He thought I was...a bit eccentric when I first arrived..."  
  
"He thought you were a loon. But he doesn't any more."  
  
"I know. I'm glad of that. Did you know he's been helping me with my French?"  
  
"Yeah, he mentioned it. Round about the time Maggie was here he started with that, didn't he?"  
  
"Yes. In my extreme upset when he was suspended, I'm afraid I mangled my statement of support rather badly, and he thought it was lack of understanding of the language. So, he's been helping me..."  
  
Ray began to smile slowly. "But you don't need help. You were just freaked and said the wrong thing."  
  
Giggling, Turnbull nodded.   
  
"You just like to hear him talking in French."  
  
Still giggling, Turnbull nodded again.  
  
"You crafty little so-and-so, doin' the language of love thing with my boyfriend. Did I mention I took a couple years of French in high school?"  
  
Turnbull broke out laughing. "Oh! I'm sure he'd love the opportunity to help you brush up."  
  
"I'm pretty sure I'd love it too. Mm..." Ray sighed, relaxing with his head on Turnbull's shoulder. "I gotta sleep with the beer and the sex, here. If I start to drool or you get the circulation cut off to anything, just move me."  
  
"I will. But I think I'll stay awake a bit and drop off later..."  
  
"Just lie there?"  
  
"I'm very happy to be lying here. I want to take some time and enjoy it."  
  
"Fine with me. If you were to get the urge to kiss me awake for any reason, I'd probably get over it if you gave in..."  
  
"I'll keep that in mind." He kissed Ray's forehead, and Ray kissed Turnbull's collarbone, and they both relaxed; Ray soon slept, and dreamed of hugging.   
  
***   
  


  
 

* * *

End With Best Wishes on Your Birthday by Blue Champagne 

Author and story notes above. 

Please post a comment on this story.   
Read posted comments. 

 


End file.
